blackened Soul
by AngelicVampiress
Summary: Millicent remembers.


Title: Blackened Soul

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Millicent remembers.

Warnings: Violence (implied), some torture (implied as well), non-con (nothing graphic), minor character death, attempted suicide implied. I think I got it all.

Disclaimer: I don't the HP universe

Spoilers: Some key assumptions in this fic are based on Deathly Hallows, so y'know, I wouldn't read it if you've still not read it yet.

* * *

Millicent's ring finger was broken by Amycus Carrow. She remembers him bending it backwards, the snap of her breaking finger loud in the classroom. She remembers the pain, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but so damn sudden and unexpectedly agonizing. She remembers the anger in Daphne's eyes. She remembers kicking her friend, to keep her from drawing attention to herself instead of Millicent. She remembers Daphne's limp corpse, when carried out of Carrow's bedchamber. She remembers every time the weather changes and her old fracture aches. None of it matches the heartbreak she still nurses, none of it helps the thirst for revenge she still carries. And some days, she wonders if any of it was worth it.

* * *

She ignores Draco when he nodded hello to her on Diagon Alley. As if they were friends after what had happened. Millicent was a halfblood, stolen heritage. At least that was what she had to hear and endure during her seventh year at Hogwarts. And he nodded to her, as if the cruciatus hadn't left his lips. As if his hands hadn't bruised her body. As if his presence or his touch didn't disgust her. And it hurts that he can put it behind him so easily, when she still has to fight her demons every night. That night she draws a pentagram on the kitchen floor, and casts a dark pagan ritual. It does not satisfy her the next day, when she reads that Narcissa Malfoy has fallen severely ill.

* * *

She never thought that hatred would be such a large part of her life. Hate for the half heritage she had to carry, to a hatred for those who despised her when her own aversion turned to pride. Hatred for those who hurt her, and those who hurt those she loved. Hatred in her veins, like fire racing through her body and spite like sweet honey in her mouth. Sparks at her fingertips and old magic at her disposal. And yes, that works so well with hatred. When she looks into a mirror, she faces a stranger who differs more and more from the person she had wanted to be. And yes, she hates that too.

* * *

When she is brought before Headmaster Snape, she doesn't look him in the eye. She knows a thing or two about mind invasion. Carrow's hand linger on her body and she grits her teeth. Speaking up would only make this worse. Amycus Carrow has a point to prove to Snape. No matter what Snape thinks, he isn't in control. He never was. Millicent can relate. Putrid breath and his presence at her back – and all her instincts are screaming at her not to let herself be cornered like this. A surprisingly gentle hand caresses her side, until the other pulls her harshly against Carrow's body. The hardness she feels is what it is. His hand reaches from her body to a letter on Headmaster Snape's desk. She can see Snape's clenched fists. She doesn't remember grabbing the silver letter opener and stabbing it straight through Carrow's hand into the mahogany desk. She does remember Snape obliviating Carrow though, after which he purposely caught her chin, at which she flinched, and looked her in the eye. She remembers that he looked sad.

* * *

She has a scar on the inside of each of her wrists. Each bears a neat, vertical line that defines its very precise nature. Shortly after the meeting in Snape's office, she took a ceremonial dagger to her body and tried to die with honour. Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle found her that night before she bled out completely. She had never been more disillusioned as when she first woke up in the Hospital Wing. She remembers her wrists being healed, but still bandaged. She remembers being restrained to the bed. She remembers Draco Malfoy's sharp blue gaze on her body and the silence that made her bones ache. She remembers Madam Pomfrey bustling around the Infirmary as if everything was fine – as if everything was normal. Millicent remembers that nothing had felt more out of place then it did then. She remembers thinking that nothing could ever be alright again – even now, she doesn't think she was that far off the mark.

* * *

She remembers being hurdled out of Hogwarts, being cast out as a traitor and an enemy. While she had always been aware of the prejudice against Slytherin House, it never struck her as clearly as it did at the time of the Battle for Hogwarts. She had wanted to fight. She had wanted to stay. Hogwarts was her home, no matter what she had experienced there. She remembers the aftertaste of ashes and charcoaled hatred clouding her judgement. She remembers trying the join combatants. She remembers Aberforth restraining her. She remembers the distrust in many of her House mates' eyes. And she remembered that hatred burned so brightly against a darkened sky. It still couldn't match the blackness seeping through her veins, the ugliness that was her capacity to hate them all – to hate herself.

* * *

A/N: Hope you liked it.


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